


The Alternate

by YourFilthyMudblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, F/M, Flashbacks, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Mystery, Psychological Torture, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourFilthyMudblood/pseuds/YourFilthyMudblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Harry Potter the Wizarding World fell into decline, the evil of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters was released to all. Those who fought against him were sentenced to a fate worse than death, including the most highly sought after; Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. Captured and sent to Malfoy Manor for exploitation and torture, Hermione is faced with her most difficult challenge yet. In a desperate battle of torment, power and betrayal will Hermione be able to survive and save the day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The War Was Never Really Won

Hermione could never of said which turn of events would take place, either during the war or the aftermath that it would carry. Harry Potter, their saviour was to live or die – either of which would change the course of history forever. However no one predicted his disappearance nor did anyone know the reason why.

Speculation spread across all those who turned an ear to care, each time the stories growing more elaborate. Some say he had fled through cowardice, some say he was strengthening forces in Bulgaria. Yet none of the fabrications mattered to anyone any more, most just thought that he had been killed along with everyone else. Hermione meanwhile could only deny the betrayal and assume that one day he would rise again to claim peace.

Peace. A word Hermione thought about often, yet she could never make sense of the presently obsolete sound. It is defined as freedom of disturbance; so far that privilege did not reach her currently doomed experience. She scoffed at the idea of freedom, after all no liberties remained within the former Gryffindor Princess.

The war itself was traumatic enough for anyone involved and to no longer remain as they were; but this... This, whatever 'this' was, it was different. It was hell.

The environment of the dimension she had been hurled into lashed its menacing shadows and sounds around her. Darkened veils slithered along the walls of the confined and sullied tent. All was bare besides the varying degrees of samples left from the previous occupier. The red hues of blood across the panelling casted the eerie effect of the sun rising to Hermione's accustomed circumstances.

The flooring wasn't much of an improvement either, shamefully playing host to many unwanted guests. Several carcasses from rats and birds disintegrated in the corner with little thought from Hermione. All she could do was to wait. After all, she had been incarcerated for months now and luck could only carry her so far before the inevitable would be committed.

They ran riot, did as they pleased, committing monstrous crimes as they did so. Screams, yells, laughter... Hermione heard all the sounds that could possibly be emitted by humans, from every possible hideous act. Yet it was the laughter, the deep cackles of men signalling to their comrades the damage was once again done that etched itself under her skin. Many countless nights she spent listening to the cries wondering who it was tonight. Cho? Katie? Hannah? First Years? Little Gabrielle? Was it her turn tonight?

Regardless of their evident pain a relief swirled darkly within her. After all if their screams could have been heard at least the Death Eaters were too busy with them rather than Hermione. This wasn't the time to play hero, that moment had been lost amongst the rubble that once was the glorious Hogwarts. Now was the time for survival, not for anyone else but herself.

Eight months she had spent like this, allowing dark circles to engorge her eyes, seeming to sink deeper within her as if protecting her from the sights that came to her so frequently. The strain from them was unbelievable; so many tears had been rinsed out of them no moisture could possibly remain. The involuntary reaction of blinking even became a painful process.

Her bright eyes had become bloodshot through various damaged vessels from various damaging beatings. The windows to her soul held the helplessness she felt and her face had transformed into an exhibition of her suffering.

Her lips were cracked and stained with blood, time after time Hermione brutalised the inside of her mouth for the sake of silence, the unwilling force to somehow survive the torment. Her emotions had overtaken her appearance even before her arrival, however now the evidence of misery was all too apparent. Her hair, once bushy, lively and thick now draped liked broken straw across her shoulders.

She was lucky, before Hermione had been placed in the camps all of those that had been snatched were forced into having their heads shaven – male or female. The mystery of the revoked procedure ignited an ounce of happiness for some, until it was discovered that without hair it became much easier to perform a wandless spell, thus protecting the last dignity she had left.

Her weight too demised terribly, leaving the prominent lines of her skeleton traced up and down her around her joints a painful fluid sack compassed around them, reducing her ability to move efficiently. However this didn't affect Hermione too much as she always assumed a particular position for hours on end, cradling her knees in an attempt to resemble some kind of solace.

Her nails were the worst - those that remained were dirty - split and coated in blood which filled into every morsel of her, corrupting, excavating, creeping into soul. Her own blood, Death Eaters, friends... Ron's...

The war was never really won. Harry did not die. This was the thought that carried Hermione on. Out of all the suffering she needed something to hold on to. She had been degraded so much in past months she didn't even feel human anymore. So many horrific things had happened, some she bore witness too and others were too unbearable to think about. Haunting memories filled her with terror as the ghostly faces manifested around her.

""

The rain fell heavily, cutting through the air propelled by the wind. Every drop felt like a knife against Hermione's exposed skin - ricocheting against her shaking body. All had been given crude, discoloured and ripped robes to wear regardless of age or size. Her legs were painful and the thought of sitting down would not leave her mind. Hours she stood standing, standing, standing, nothing else.

The heavens above them had opened releasing the torrential conditions of what Hermione could only assume was April. Her feet were bare, suctioning her even further into the thick, sticky mud and at least twice their guard had been changed. However she was like so many others, another thirty girls stood around her identical in their soaked rags. The only one identifiable was that of Susan Bones and already she too had become a picture of the persecution they had been sentenced to.

It wasn't just about Mudbloods and the purity of magic anymore, it was anyone who dared to speak, act or fight for themselves. However it was only Mudbloods and Half-bloods that were sent to camps, most Purebloods were trapped in the castle with Lord Voldemort and his most trusted servants or sent as personal slave to those with the Dark Mark.

Her knees had begun to shake, a sure sign that she could not stand for much longer. This time nobody had collapsed so far but Hermione wasn't prepared to be the first. Anyone who did feint or refuse to stand was taken away for the Death Eaters entertainment later.

The biting cold and lashing rain stapled the now transparent wet material to her bruised skin, after being exposed to the elements; blisters formed a raw graze across her visible body. She had been in this situation so many times the embarrassment of exploitation was a meagre complaint compared to never ending torture of standing for hours.

The sheer terror of knowing that any movement could cause a Cruciatus curse to any of those who didn't obey was constantly mounted around the prisoners. There was no purpose to the standing, only that of the sanctioning their creed.

A violent spasm shot through Hermione's core, pushing her mass to the sludge beneath her. Her hands vacuumed into the mud, followed by her knees and face. A soul etching howl was freed from the pathetic sight on the floor. Nobody dared to look her as they too would incur the same discipline. With the crashing of the downpour surrounding her, two Death Eaters worked their way through the group until they reach Hermione.

Her being was so encases in the weather ridden ground all movement was impossible, she wanted to kick, to punch, to bite, anything to stop her being dragged with the men. Refusing to look at either of the wizards, two large hands wrapped around her arms pulling her up from the ground. As they did so the deluge around her sucked her back towards the ground creating a tug of war between the two pressures. Hermione continued to wail, begging incoherently the same as all the others she had seen being yanked so unsympathetically.

A loud high pitch conch signalled throughout the camp, informing the captives that no longer did they have to stand. Hermione's soul broke in two as all she needed to do was poise herself a minute longer. However now it was too late. A small stone hut resided just in front of her with a looming black door. She didn't dare look behind and her entrance to hell crawled ever closer.

Closing her eyes tight in terror she could find no fight left in her, and the eruptive bang of the Death Eater to her right kicking open the door before her only increased the horror of what was to come.

""

Hermione continued to stare at the sheathing, reliving the carousel of her memories. When she first came, every night she would cry not only for herself but everyone else who had endured anything near what she had. Now she couldn't even care for herself and as far and she was concerned, it was always better to happen to somebody else rather than herself.

It seemed impossible to believe that her life had become this, an eternity of pain, humiliation and misery. She felt like an animal, dehumanized by those who were spawned for evil. They were built for it, designed flawlessly to not only torture with magic but to take away every civilized right. It seemed that they enjoyed that particular torment the most as it to prove to be highly effective.

No longer could she identify herself as a witch, a Gryffindor, as Hermione. They had made her feel lower than a Mudblood, more unworthy than any other creature. She wasn't even sure if she was still alive, how could she be?

Everything had spiralled so deeply out of control; after all it was to be believed that victory was theirs until six months before her capture.

Against all odds they had managed to escape the battlefield with Harry, it was surely just a matter of time. So many had died in order to defeat Lord Voldemort and so much had been put at risk. They had been so close to victory and Hermione cursed herself silently for her stupidity and naivety.

But he promised me!

His last words danced through her mind as the image of Harry faded away. She rolled awkwardly onto her back resembling a broken Muggle doll. All of her was bent and creaked painfully as most of her joints had fused at a certain degree.

Stones and lumps of dried mud dug into her back and she could feel the blood rushing around her head. Her fists collided with canvas flooring, impacting with what lay beneath her. Hermione stared above her, searching for something. Perhaps in attempt to dwell on another awful memory, perhaps in hope of an epiphany or saviour.

Nothing would ever appear a part from maybe a forbidding shadow. Yet somehow every day, she laid waiting for whatever was to come as there was no fight left. Sleep would not come either and her mind and body was impossible to rest. If she was awake, if she had some warning, there might be a chance to survive.

The emptiness didn't aid her sleep either; god knows how long it had been since she ate. Although her starved framed longed for food she could not bring herself to digest to stale rations she was given. It was enough to keep her alive but in no way nutritious or easy to chew.

The sun had slowly begun to sink encouraging the cool air in comparison to the suffocating heats during day. It whistled through the tent softly, mildly soothing her constant discomforts. The blue of the sky started to roll into its bright tones of pink and orange with the night lingering not too far away.

Unfortunately the tent had started to paint a foul contrast to the outside world as the combinations of odours became sulphuric around her. Thankfully it was so foul whenever a Death Eater did decide to come her way they assumed no living thing could possibly stay in such a terrible squalor. Even a Mudblood.

As the night had begun to commence and crawled past slowly, it teased Hermione with sounds of the monstrosities that seemed to occur once the sun had fallen. Everybody became far more vulnerable at night as the Death Eaters drowned themselves in Firewhisky and gratified whatever needs they held. Eventually the screams would die down, and at some point the camp was at rest.

As she lay there she wondered how many did the same, replaying the self torture over and over in identical fashion. All had been committed to the same abyss of nonexistent hope. It was foolish to still think but Hermione was convinced of the one hope that still perhaps remained. Yet what good was he now?

Each day the hope grew less and less but she needed something. At no point could she explain why she tried so desperately to grip onto something. After all he left without hesitation abandoning his two best friends and a slither of an empty promise.

'Coward!'

She spat ferocious to her hollow surroundings with only the stench to hear her. A bomb of frustration began to build under her ribcage, out of all that had happened, this was the ultimate treachery.

Her throat was exceedingly dry, creating harshness at the back of her mouth. It was not often she spoke, yet each time she did it always resulted in regret. It was always wise to make as little noise as possible especially around twilight, yet the anger was undeniably justified. However before she could impart on her actions, a looming silhouette crept to the front of her tent.

The smears of blood and earth over the covering distorted the presence but not enough for Hermione to know it was her turn. She glanced around as fast as her stiffened neck would allow. A shot of adrenaline rose through her biting at her sides.

As useless as it was, it was instinct to not give up the fight. What fight? She had no choice. She was theirs for the taking and all she could do was to wait. Yet whatever they were to condemn her to she would not cry and she would not scream. That, they did not deserve.

As the shadow increased its size with louder footsteps to accompany them, a low growl released itself from the wizard outside. It sounded so animalistic and barbaric it could only prove one thing - that this was not a man.

Hermione breathed in a suppressed squeal sharply through the fear she felt the monster that lurked beyond her sights. In the months she had spent here she had managed to avoid the claws that would indeed tear her apart. His oppressive stature only preceded his reputation which was increased greatly by the black shapes sprawled over the tent. Once he was to enter her life would surely end.

'What the fuck have you been told Greyback?'

Her heart burst rapidly inside her with her worst fears confirmed. Yet the other man, one she could not see but became perfectly audible froze her to the floor rendering it impossible to move an inch. 'You filthy dog, you really want something that's been fucked about by the Lestrange whore? You make me feel fucking sick.'

Her stomach churned at the reminder of her most torturous encounter. The pearlescent trails remained on her skin - even in the darkness the scars up and down her body were unmistakable. Her legs lay bare from the vulgar rag that she had claimed as clothing and the contamination - with endless amounts of unhygienic bodily samples - irritated her open wounds. It barely covered what it needed it to but did provide the most amount of dignity possible - at least she wasn't in the freezing rain.

Echoes of curses and hexes embossed her skin leaving no escape from the horrendous day. Her arms were no better, the word Mudblood tattooed to her from a dagger, from the same evil being. It was clear she deserved no identity, no individuality, only to be herded like cattle and wait for her unquestionable fate. The unknown man's voice broke her silent thoughts, 'we're throwing this little bitch in there before you get any ideas.'

He allowed a no doubt awkward pause pass between them.

'They're off limits Fenrir, The Dark Lord specified. I don't see why you give such a shit about these ones with all the choice you've got. Anyway, we've got new batch coming in, picked up a mile outside Hogwarts. Fucking idiots, it's like they wanted to get caught, mind you half of them were part of Dumbledore's Army. Ballsy little fucks, I'll give them that...'

He pulled open the tent door without even acknowledging the girl station in the centre. Throwing someone in, the flap fell back down as quickly as it was opened. The shadows left without any exchange leaving both girls to a shared torment.

Much like Hermione the girl was with a doubt neglected and defeated. Her hair once so vivacious and startlingly bright lay limp and dull. An apparent black eye began to present itself, manipulating her features. However it was clear this girl was once very beautiful.

Her hands were a mess and she shook violently like an animal that had been caged up so long it had forgotten how to live. This was not the girl she remembered.

Hermione attempted slowly to hoisted herself to her who sat where she was thrown. If she did indeed recognised Hermione she made little inclination towards that thought.

This was exactly what it looked like to give up, to allows the evil deeds continue. Crawling pathetically towards her friend she examined the newly found bruises across the girl's body. Their clothing was not too dissimilar, both designed to shows as much as possible which of course, it did triumphantly.

'Ginny... Who did this to you?'

Her speech, no more than a whisper was hoarse and cracked. Words seemed so unfamiliar, like everyone else cries of distress and misfortune were the only thing to leave her lips - as well as a tooth if she was lucky enough.

Hermione wanted nothing more than to be united with one of her friends again. She would even happily of taken one of the Patil twins for the sake of a familiar face. Now the situation had presented itself and Hermione wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

However this wasn't just anyone, it was Ginny whom she fought side by side with, whose hand she held as they watched loved ones ridiculed and tribunaled. Yet neither of the girls were the same, how was it possible to rekindle a friendship claimed by two entirely different people?

Shame rose to her face, no longer did she feel the innocence she once took for granted, the kind hearted spirit nor the strength required by Ginny to fix this mess.

Unfortunately the mess was so much more than that. Hundreds had been imprisoned indiscriminately, the boys were mainly executed in the first instance and some came to the camps for and Death Eaters with an acquired taste.

Mostly they were surrounded by girls around the same age, some were drastically younger. Like so many others Ginny and Hermione fought through the aftermath of war, working with the Ministry to hunt down as many of the Dark Lords followers they could find. Of course it never proved that easy. Six months was all it took for the evil to conquer once more, that was the last day she saw Ginny before this moment.

A strange feeling crept over her, exhaustion was present to say the least, yet this was different. Suddenly the numbness edged away, releasing the vast amounts of suppressed emotions. Now she was given the opportunity to share the hate, the anger, all the pain. She never realised how truly lonely she was and now to be joined by one of her best friends sparked a hope that had been lost.

Maybe it isn't over, maybe there's a way...

Yet all the emotion drained whatever feeble amounts of energy she had left. It was not long before the darkness consumed her into the realms of unforgiving dreams.

Hermione awoke early that morning as usual, greeted by heavy smell of damp. However it was never very wise to have a few extra hours sleep while the Death Eaters took their morning patrol. The hazy days and humid nights caused the tent material to be terrorised by condensation. A thick smog had apparently built up over the night restricting Hermione's breathing.

The familiar pain that belonged to her head, among other parts of her body were forcing her to leave her half conscious state. Not that this bothered her too much, it's not like she ever had a decent night sleep anyway. Yet who would in such circumstances?

The horrors of war had plagued her mind all night, the never ending screams of the innocent and the stench of blood singed to her nostrils for all eternality, bitterly stinging her senses as it did every morning.

When her misty amber eyes finally opened to her reality it was to the surreal frozen sight of Ginny. Whom she, in all honesty wished she was a fragment of her distorted dreams. Hermione rose awkwardly from the floor she used as a bed - the mornings were always difficult.

Lack of nutrition, hydration and civilised toileting left her dizzy most of the time. She nursed the constant soft thump on her right temple, pacing herself gingerly. Her stomach growled within her, clenching at her torso she submitted to its punishment and bent over. Food... No, I mustn't... It's not like I'll be getting it anytime soon.

To her actions Ginny made little response remaining crossed legged, eyes closed, fighting her own demons. The pain continued down to the knees of Hermione, crippling them dramatically, forcing her to the floor. The memories of forbidden thoughts came to her with little warning. Before she had time to think her eyes were a flood with tears. A rush of panic as the their long ago surrender engulfed Hermione back to that day.

""

She cackled, wand rose high, utter glee on her condemned face. Bellatrix stood on a fallen pillar subsequent of the battle, twisting her wand as her feet pranced like a spoilt child's. Harry was suspended in mid air, his arms stretched out either side of him, his already beaten body on display.

The blood began to trickle more freely as his feature contorted to the pain, his once strong green eyes full of tears. His yells reverberated throughout the grounds presenting torture not only to him but those who watched their Messiah reduced to the victimisation of the evil. His rounded glasses - perhaps no longer as circular as they once were – had been bent and shattered like the souls of the forsaken. Sickeningly they were in the possession of Voldemort.

Bellatrix moved the wand in her fingers as if it was ribbon. 'Crucio!' her laughter chased into every ear present. Harry screamed thrashing in the air, his body almost giving up hope. Bellatrix spun him slowly on his invisible pedestal for all to see. His torture in front of the whole school, the DA, the Order. The Death Eaters at last finally had their long awaited prize.

Voldemort stood by casually laughing in rhythm to Harry's screams, merely exhibiting his success.

'Make the Potter boy dance for his Lord!'

His cold high pitch demeanour threatening the sanity of most. Bellatrix flicked her tongue across her thin lips in excitement. Voldemort, with little hesitation, had his wish granted. Hermione stopped watching the disgusting sceptical before her by this point, soaking her tears into Ron's woollen jumper.

Nobody moved.

Not only had they taken Harry but they had taken their hope along with it. His screams surged towards Hermione. Her best friend, nothing short of a brother, an innocent boy thrown willingly to a fate worse than death.

He was a celebrated hero, now dancing for the Dark Lord. It was an insult to his life, a sham to the memories of his parting. Humiliation and torture. In one swift flick of the wand, Harry's body dropped unforgiving to the ground leaving only the echoes if screams in his wake.

""

The tears continued to stream, staining her face. Hermione fell to her side with a thud, gripping onto the tent flooring as if it would bring her strength. Her hands possessed her hair, clutching at the dull strands forcing the emotional anguish out of her. It brought nothing apart from more despair. ' Harry...' she whispered between her rasped breaths. Hermione fell into silent cries, if Ginny noticed she made little attention that she did so.

Both girls wrapped up in their own torment. No amount of comfort Ginny could bring would rectify the death of those she loved, her would be consoling was far from Hermione's mind however. She at least had comfort in Ron's death. She knew he was trying to do the right thing. Harry merely disapparated when he had the chance.

It had been a long while since Hermione had a sense of time, upon her arrival her existence was to not end up like so many others. The only time that was distinguished was that of the movements of the sun. So how long Hermione lay there with her inner turmoil running wild, she could not say. She squeezed at the flooring as she rocked herself hoping it might relinquish some emotion, that if maybe it would materialize either of the boys in front of her. Eventually she drifted off into the realms of past antipathy.

She was awoken by the intense heat of the summer at midday. The flap was pulled back spilling the brightness into the girl's tent. Ginny had not moved from her previous position and Hermione reacted unnaturally slow to the intrusion, prying her face which stuck to the floor from her incessant crying.

Her eyes felt chapped, like they were made of glass. She had little idea why her body decided to cry, it only did more harm than good. She raised her head slowly to the entrance only to find someone she really did not wish to see. Greyback stood there with hunger his eyes and blood on his breath. His filthy claw like nails ran down the side of the sheathing before he decided to enter.

'Well, well, well. What do we have here? Two little beauties, fit for lunch...'

His eyes traced down the barely covered thighs of Hermione, licking his lips in anticipation. 'Among other things...' He smirked a wicked grin, advancing towards Hermione. She had little time to shuffle herself backwards into the corner of the tent, even if she wasn't any safer.

'I like to make the meat tender before I eat it. Pound it in.' He growled in a long and low frequency baring his serrated teeth at Hermione with the stench of her dead friends still lingering in his mouth. He slowly reached for his belt buckle, allowing the metal to clasp against itself harshly. Before Hermione could prevent the forcible penetration that was about to be committed to her, a loud bang erupted just outside the tent.

'Fenrir! Get the fuck out of that tent!' A man nearly a tall as Greyback and nearly as broad pointed his wand directly at the werewolf. Judging from his voice it was the same man as last night. He entered the appalling conditions, refusing to lower his wand. Greyback froze, not even attempting to hide the scenario.

None of them ever would, it was their world now.

The Death Eater Hermione recognised as Dolohov held his silence and his gaze. The last time she had seen him was during the chase for the prophecy at the Ministry.

Although her first memory was that of Dolohov digging his hands into her scalp, somehow the thoughts warmed her. A place where all of her friends had been together, surviving, with hope.

'You know the fucking rules you mangy piece of shit.' Dolohov continued 'we got their request this morning.' The werewolf appeared very unconvinced, expressing something very disagreeable on his disfigured face. Dolohov in one final attempt began once again, 'besides it's that Malfoy prick who owns them now. There's fuck all you can do about it.'

Dolohov inclined his head to his left to leave, inviting the werewolf along with him. Greyback did so reluctantly but not without saying goodbye. 'I'm sure I'll be seeing you two in good time. Have fun being fucked by Malfoy, you'll wish you had me instead.' He leant forward snarling his teeth in Hermione's stunned face. He left without another word kicking the tent upon his exit. One last fright while he could...

Ironically the fear of what could of happened dissolved like sugar barely registering with the brunette girl. It was what Dolohov said that chilled her very core regardless of the exotic temperatures.

Malfoy.

Of all the people they were to be sent to, nobody made her skin crawl the way he did. How could he so easily of betrayed them? How could he so easily walk into the open arms of Voldemort without so much as looking back? Yet it wasn't a simple coincident they were sent to him, he requested them. Her and Ginny. He wanted them as his slaves, more than likely as a sickening trophy - the best friend and the girlfriend. What could be better for a disgraceful ferret like him?

What could she do? Escape? That would not be an option, for those who did try were delivered worse than they could ever imagine. It was a horrific thought considering the worst had already happened to most.

For attempting to runaway was one very sure way to end at the merciless hands of the Dark Lord who was known for his patience in torture. The only reason they were kept alive so long was only to be as condemned to the devil as much as possible. Not like anyone had actually managed to escape anyway.

Now she was being sent to the jaws of someone she never even believed had the capability of being a Death Eater. Yet that was a long time ago and now a new dawn engulfed the horizon, painting the blood of even more of the innocent.


	2. She Contorted In Her Own Madness

Chapter Two

She Contorted In Her Own Madness

They came for her and Ginny that night.

It was always known that they would be transported once darkness had fallen, yet it always intrigued Hermione why they would be smuggled under such a veil. Three of them stormed the tent pulling Hermione roughly by hair. They ungraciously shoved them through the flap hole and into a jeering crowd of smelly, dirty wizards.

They held them there, showing them off to a long awaited audience. Cheers erupted as they continued to be dragged through the thousands of tents stacked within an exceedingly close proximity.

The camp was alight with the orange glows of fires the Death Eaters set up in their own quarters. The screams danced around as other girls ran in hysterics from their predators with no such luck. They chased after the young witches only to let them go again in a false and hopeless head start.

Hermione's legs stumbled pathetically underneath her but her trouble was little compared to Ginny's. Even under such circumstances an echo of her spirit remained. Upon being dragged, Ginny for the first time in their recent pairing stop shaking and became defiant, suddenly locking her body. In frustration a blonde man, slightly older than middle aged and far more presentable than the others did have a tight hold on the faded copper hair.

Without a moment's thought he pushed her violently to the ground. She did not flinch nor make an attempt to protect herself from the fall. Her hem line rose revealing the tarnished pale skin. Her hips were covered by deep red lines that shone black in the night. Bruises and swelling accompanied them and Hermione was also brought to a painful abrupt halt.

Ginny's Death Eater escort placed his hand into his well tailored and no doubt expensive jacket - Hermione had not seen such luxuries in a long time - removing his hand he clasped a dagger with the most unusual shape. It was reduced to a fine point yet curved similar to that of a bird's talon.

After a few moments of recollecting she knew at once where she had seen such a thing. The man smiled turning to Hermione, twisting the object through his fingers.

'Like what you see? I thought you would.'

He paced himself towards her, unequivocal to crowd and the motionless girl behind him. 'I hear that you were once the brightest witch of your age. Now tell me... How exactly does a nasty, foul little bitch like you call herself a witch?'

The cut of his tongue was well calculated, manipulating her insecurities, weeding her mind. He smiled once again, causing a revolution of tense fear in Hermione's chest. His hand moved in a split second opening the skin on her mud ridden cheek. It stung sharply springing tears to her already chapped eyes.

'I'll do worse than that Mudblood. Such a shame a pretty little thing like you is already so dirty.' A brief chuckle breezed past his lips.

Raising his empty hand he slowly pulled his arm back only to crash it into the laceration he had just cause. The pain forced Hermione's knees to buckle, pulling her skull away from her hair. The men around her roared in unison as the man in front laughed triumphantly.

He turned from her only to land his foot into Ginny's stomach. Her frail body bent in two as both girls were crippled with pain. Once again the man pulled Ginny from the ground with no concern on her capability to walk. Those behind them followed suit as the skin on the bottom of Hermione's bare feet began to break allowing the twigs and dirty to dig into her open wounds.

From then on they were marched through the camp followed by various insults and threats thrown their way.

After what seemed an eternity they were brought to the edge of the camp. The man had not once released his grip from the former Gryffindor, pulling her head backwards towards the black sky as they came to their stop.

There was no real need for their recent display - they could have been apparated within an instant. Yet this wasn't just a job to these men. It was who they were, it was fun. Before she knew it she was flashing past the countryside, as if forced through a very tight tube with not much room for breathing. As quickly as it begun the sensation stopped dropping Hermione to the stoney floor.

Although she had stopped moving the spinning continued to overtake her vision. It had been some time since Hermione had apparated and the effects began to take its toll on her body. She tried to decipher the contorted images in front of her. Geometric shrubbery and elaborate fountains flicked and spun with Hermione.

The never ending pathway she lay on, bordered off with bushes dragged her further into the darkness. The feeling became too much and the nausea exploded in her empty stomach. The bile rose up her throat burning it to cinders along the way, spewing out of her mouth. Her head began to pound as hard as ever, and her ears buzzed with an excruciating frequency. Only continuing to wretch, her arms collapsed underneath her, colliding her head directly with the floor.

""

Her amber eyes darted around the courtyard. Plumes of black smoke appeared all around them.

More of them had been called and they were vastly outnumbered. Ron held her hand dragging her through the mass. Both sent curses in alternate directions without making a difference. The more hooded figures that fell at their wand seem to entice more into joining the battle.

Harry's plan had failed, Hermione had failed.

Everywhere they ran seemed as hopeless as the last. They were cornered, surrounded by an endless stream of black cloaks. 'We need to get to Harry! He's not strong enough to fight him on his own!' Her cries were nearly inaudible.

Crashes, screams and explosions were all that seemed to be around. However the Dark Lord and Harry were nowhere to be seen. The remaining two saw that their attempts only became futile, to be closed in by their predators. They were stuck in the centre with no way out.

Each spell they sent was countered as easy as the last. The enemy forces seemed impenetrable. Ron pull Hermione into his chest, squeezing her tightly to him for one last embrace.

""

A large building ahead of Hermione with painfully bright windows came into her vision in distorted rhythms. Her hair stuck to her face with a strong smell of vomit in addition. She bounced through the air trying to focus on anything that came to view. Her thoughts were hardly collected as a fog curled around her brain.

The nausea began to rise once again, and she continued to try her best and distract herself. The floor seemed three feet below and as her conscious regained she felt the heat of hands under her back and knees. Ginny stomped ahead, still prisoner to the refined Death Eater.

The building drew nearer with a large black door with an ornate M carved in silver on the front. They had reached their destination at last and a tense wave swept over them in the still night air. Once again they stopped with the starless sky the only reasonable sight for Hermione. She could not bring herself to look at her new prison, clearly Ginny felt the same. She promptly placed her head down as if her feet were the most interesting things she had seen in a long time.

Under any other circumstances Hermione would of taken this chance to escape, however she knew both her and Ginny were far too weak to flee from such men. Bravely she turned her head slowly, forcing her stomach to stay settled and she stared at the black door.

It seemed like a long time had passed and barely and breath was exchange between the four. Time ticked slowly for Hermione as she refused to take her eyes from the entrance.

She wished for death as she had every day for the last eight months and the imposing sight span her thoughts. Imagination took hold and fed indoctrinating images of torture and pain into the groggy amber eyes.

No comfort was sought from this and Hermione had the distinct feeling that whatever was behind that door was far more fearful that what she could only assume. After sometime the door opened revealing white marble, unnaturally contrasted to its surroundings.

A dark shape came into view and the blonde hair and pointed face of Draco Malfoy stepped through the threshold. In the instant of her mind registering whom this was, her body involuntary started to flay in the Death Eaters arms. Without a second thought the man removed his support from beneath her, leaving her to smash harshly on the ground.

A familiar laugh rang round them, setting her blood on fire as she pathetically tried to raise herself from the ground.

'What the fuck have you done to them? They smell like fucking pig shit.'

His cold drawl crawled over skin like dirty hands. She could feel a force simmering in the pit of her stomach. She could feel the hate and anger she built up for so long. This man... barely more than boy looked nothing more than horrifically amused. 'Bring them in, but don't let them on any of the carpets.'

He turned walking back through the doorway, and the all too recognisable hand curled around her arm forcing her upwards and forwards. Draco's footsteps danced around them as he marched through his exquisite hallway. It was wide with moving portraits of what could only of been Malfoy predecessors. The startling comparison between those she could only assume were dead and those alive cast an eerie atmosphere throughout the lengthily hallway.

'I hope you've been looking after them well Yaxley. You know how I don't like my goods to be... Damaged.' The drawl continued and the girls were discussed like cattle being put off to pasture. Of course Hermione was all to use to be treated in such ways. 'You know full well these little bitches would of got what they deserved. This little Blood Traitor though...' signalling Ginny the man pulled her roughly as if displaying a broken rag doll.

'Well, she puts up a good fight Malfoy. Or at least she did!'

All three men laughed together as if it was all some humorous anecdote. Hermione knew it could have been so much worse for her and the images of what Ginny could have been through brought a new wave of sickness in her body.

The hallway grew darker the further they walked into it with the paintings dispersing slowly. Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks almost causing the man behind him and Ginny to go straight into him. 'If I found out any one of those slimy dicks have been inside either of them, I'll make sure you're the one sucking it. And trust me, I will find out Yaxley.'

The older man's face stiffened in offence to the threat. His pause was long while each ear waited for a response.

'Unlike you Draco I have no interest in lowering myself to fuck either of these two. Regardless of who they are you know that is never my concern.' Draco smirked in the dim light and continued down the corridor.

Eventually they were brought to a solid single door. The door handle like many others in Malfoy Manor was carved into a serpent baring its fangs and forked tongue. Sliding the Hawthorn from his breast pocked, Draco hissed an incantation towards the handle with wispy white sparks to flow of out the end of the wand.

Hermione became transfixed to the magic, oh how she missed her wand. She missed the ability and more importantly the right to perform magic. Her wand could never be salvaged as it was lost and broken forever.

The memories of Ollivander's from her first trip to Diagon Alley surged through her being. She would never be allowed to return to those times nor would she grant herself that privilege. The magic illuminated the silver serpent only to bring it to life, letting it slither into the keyhole.

After a series of clicks the door unlatched itself, welcoming it's visitors.

'Leave them with me gentlemen, I'll fetch the elf to show you out. Now if you excuse I have some business to attend.' An evil smirk played on his lips, in a crack an ugly house elf appeared and without a word began to pace the long walk with his singular ear bobbing behind him.

The Death Eaters bided their goodbyes, releasing their grip of the girls and stalked back down the blackened corridor. The expression did not leave Malfoy's face as he lighted his wand pointing it into the mysterious room. Marble steps guided the descending pathway with alcoves places on either side. The steps seemed bottomless, as if this was the entrance to hell.

'Left alone at last... Well I won't forget my manners, ladies first.' Draco circle Ginny flicking locks of her hair with his wand. Her vacant expression gave no clue to her turmoil, and she stood there as docile as ever.

Pressing his wand into her back he walked forward leaving Ginny to proceed down the stairs. With Draco's back towards Hermione she saw her chance to run. Looking behind her, the idea seemed to escape leaving her behind. Draco by no means was a weak wizard and some kind of trap was bound to lie in her way.

Her options were limited, however there was something else stopping her from running. She already had Ginny ripped from her once before and whatever was to happen to her she would at least have a hand to hold this time.

The room to which they were lead was the most curious place Hermione had ever seen. The stone walls rose up high in an arch, a glass ceiling above them. Allowing a dim ray of moonshine to flow through, it weakly highlighted the emerald sheen of the walls rock face. A square marble structure lay in the middle with black tiles covering the subterranean ground.

Draco still had a hold of Ginny at wand point leading her into the centre. As they both walked into the moonbeam the tall young man extinguished his wand light. Draco releasing the contact from the small of the redheads back while Hermione continued to trail sluggishly behind them in attempt to not exert her wounds.

Bile was all she could taste and smell with her stomach giving harsh reminders of the acid that lingered. Her whole body was beyond excruciating and her legs bent awkwardly beneath her. As she persisting in holding on to whatever physical strength she might still possess, she persisted on. The journey had weakened her greatly and with every step she could feel her sanity edging away in the frustration of her inflictions.

Her peripherals darkened, looking through her new found tunnel vision she miscalculated her footing causing her ankle to buckle and fall clumsily to the ground. Her pains began to slowly dissolve as her conscious gave no attempt in stopping the black to ink her eyes.

The shattering pain in her shoulder was what stirred her consciousness. She could feel her joints being slowly dislocated as she found her arms impossible to move. The confusion of her position allowed her mind to snap, fully aware of the fact she was hanging in the air.

Thick, cold metal dug deep into her wrist that was high above her. Hermione could already feel the warm trickled of her blood tickling her arm. None of her previous aches had demised only to be accompanied by new ones. She flayed her feet shocked that they were not on the ground.

She was suspended high against the wall, with her head hung low. The darkness consumed her surroundings and a sharp brittle wind antagonized her open wounds. She tried to squirm free, or even to regain some comfort however the weakness was far too great and her attempts were nothing but a waste of time. Forcing her eyes to adjust to the environment the room in which she was in was completing bare, a stone dudgeon. Ginny was nowhere to be seen.

In an instant Hermione's brain began to synapse at full speed with a vice like grip of primeval force. Once again the innocent redhead had been snatched from her arms and lead into torture. Trying to steady her swirling vision she could feel the confusion in her brain beginning to swell.

Disorientation was all she felt as her body grew heavier, breaking away from her tender joints. A long piercing scream was forced out of Hermione as the pain became all too much. Her mobility was nonexistent as every movement became unbearable. It caused a nausea which was so powerful, mauling through her due to the agonizing position.

Her eyes began to subconsciously leak, yet her emotions had pushed far beyond the threshold to allow her to cry. The situation had gone from bad to worse and the constant suppression of hopelessness only felt more real.

Harry was never coming back. He didn't care, either that or he had been killed. The second of which Hermione still highly doubted. There was neither a plan nor an alternative. Death was the only comfort she sought now and even the luck of that was unlikely to pass. All the things that did once matter so greatly to her had all been torn away.

Nothing would be as it was and there was nothing to turn back to. The hatred of her new existence now manifested towards Harry. The never ending question groomed her mind. Not only did he abandon her but Ron and Ginny as well. Did he even have any idea of the echo left that once was Ginny Weasley? Hermione even struggled to comprehend the suffering that was bestow upon her younger friend.

Hermione's existence was no more than obsolete and neither was Ginny's. Both had little idea of what horrors lay their way and Hermione was fairly sure this was just the beginning. The difference between Draco and the others was that they just saw the two girls as filthy pieces of meat. Draco however knew them, he knew their insecurities, their weaknesses and most importantly, he has waited for this chance for a very long time.

She hung there in her cold stone cage listening to the fearful sounds of the night. No light penetrated her surroundings and whispers danced through the room toying with her sanity. Time slowly pressed on as Hermione slipped away from her supple shoulders. How long had she already been there? An hour? A day?

There was no time in a place like this. It was a never ending stream of pain and suffering. The rustled susurration spurred round her casting a cold invasive grip on her skin. The muffled voices seeped ever closer only to spring back to lurk behind every corner. Anxiety grew to the highest level as Hermione hopelessly scanned the dark room for her unseen enemy.

In a second the sound was upon her once again covering her in a crazed manifestation within her mind. A feral fear electrified through her as in a desperate panic she attempted to scuttle up the wall. Her chapped ankles grated across the rock face and a shrill frequency leapt out from inside Hermione. Screaming became involuntary as the voices crept under her skin. Her yells reverberated through the rooms, but as her cries intensified so did the whispering.

It felt like ants' eating her alive and the pure terror was mounted upon her. She could form no words nor any thought, her soul began to splinter apart as the piercing sounds was all that was left. The dull tones of voices died away but the fear lingered on. Hermione continue to scream and thrash, refusing to let the pain drag her down once again. Her shoulders began to crack as she contorted in her own madness.

Before long even the screaming became too much as Hermione erupted with a vicious cough. She could taste the familiar copper of blood shooting into her mouth. Even the screaming had been taken away from her. Silence deafened her as no more phantom noises presented themselves. Her shoulders were badly dislocated and her feet had begun to turn black from the dying skin tissue.

No matter how many times she wished death would sweep her way a great sadness cloaked her thoughts. She never wanted to die this way yet there was no other option left for the Gryffindor. Her anger over Harry's disappearance soared once again. An uncontrollable heat swelled in her chest. He left her to this. To be a pet to Draco Malfoy. Was this what he wanted her? For Ginny? He was meant to be their hero, their friend. Where was he? Ron fought until the very end. And Harry?

Hermione's thoughts began to twist. She couldn't help but blame the entirety of her circumstance on him. All of the pain she had been through, the beatings, curses, the slimy hands of Death Eaters... If Harry was not to die at the hands of Lord Voldemort's it most certainly would be hers.

Hermione wept for a long time, isolated in her mental disturbances. Flashes of deadly green lights hypnotised her brain, the explosion of rubble and the drowning screams of fear. Her mind was overrun with conflicts, yet at the thought of every scenario each had the same denominator; Harry.

If it wasn't for him god knows how better off her life would have been. Yet time after time she was walked blindly into danger because of guilt. Not once did she truly want to take part on such missions, she allowed her intelligence to be exploited. After all neither of the boys would of got this far without her. Besides, what kind of person would that make her? She was their friend, she loved them and friends do not leave each other. That isn't what their supposed to do, they stay, until the very end...

""

'I just don't understand... How could all of this have gone so wrong?' Hermione voice was weak and barely audible. An old rotting table lay before her with their hero reduced to a mess of black swells and blood. The blood... It was everywhere, deforming Harry into a red kaleidoscope.

Nothing recognisable remained as the pain his soul bore was still etched upon his face. His unconsciousness unnerved her to the very core; by some miracle he was still alive but barely. 'I'm so sorry Harry...' Her voice trailed into an expected sob as she bent over the nearly lifeless form resting her head on his chest. The tears streamed freely, sliding down Hermione's cheeks, leaking into the open wounds that lay before her.

An apology wasn't enough, nothing would be enough. The war had naturally sent her emotions wild and the aftermath did not pity her either. She knew they were lucky to escape with their lives especially with Harry remotely intact. Yet the relief only confused the already peaking turmoil.

The matted bronze curls fell over Hermione's face as she threw her head from side to side. 'I'm so sorry Harry...' Over and over again she repeated her rasped reputes clenching at whatever unmark bit of skin she could find. Every part of him was covered in some kind of infliction, and looking at the devastation was enough to turn anybodies stomach.

Hermione however allowed his blood to smear her hands and face, she didn't care she just needed him to understand. She need him to know how much she loved him, how much she prayed that his existence, his destiny was not this. She knew no magic that could heal wounds that came with such evil and all she could do was wait and beg that not everything was taken from him.

The warm touch of a soft hand clasped her shoulder sympathetically. It gripped her in such a way Hermione completely forgot about the situation letting herself seep into a swirling cloud. The scent filled her, and she sank into the familiar comfort of safety. Her fears began to ration as her eyes met that of Ron's.

In a sudden burst of desperation she needed him; she needed his solace and his release. Hermione could not deter from thinking of drowning herself in his arms. She needed to feel something, anything to know that she was still alive. 'I don't understand Ron. We were so close... How could we of failed so badly?' Regardless of her inner struggle her voice reluctantly slithered from her casting nothing more than the sound of the broken.

Hermione searched for an answer in Ron, one he did not have. Commiseration held his face as he too shared the grief of war. His voice matched hers; defeated and course.

'I know Hermione... But we're still alive. We just have to lay low. Recollect forces...' Ron let his hand slide from Hermione's quivering shoulder. Pushing herself up from her knees her frame and composure remained pathetic. Blood was painted across most of her front as she casted her tear ridden eyes towards Harry.

A fever boiled under her skin, 'we don't have time! I don't care about that, I don't care about anything! Not when Harry... is like this...' Her voice once again trailed to sorrowful muffles as she wrinkled her eyes in an attempt to prevent the tears from flowing.

How could Ron be so calm? This was Harry! He looked like half butchered meat, in the dark facts of reality he was nothing more. Ron began to speak once again, his voice tired but with the flat tone of exasperation. 'C'mon it's been a long day Hermione you need some rest.' It was useless, the young witch began to shake even more as she dropped to her knees leaning over the lost cause of Harry Potter.

Gauges lay across his torso and swollen bruises tinged with black and purple began to circle the wounds. His ribs were visibly broken and the fact his lungs were not perforated was a miracle in itself. Hermione's spell had managed to stop the bleeding but the majority were far too excessive and untouched by any form of healing they knew.

His face was barely his own, his glasses were gone and the only other trace of his identity was underneath a lock of hair stuck to his forehead with red cement. 'I'm not leaving him Ron, we don't even know if... If he's going to make it.' The words sound surreal and her voice sounded so unlike her own. So many times she had feared for their lives, stood above both Ron and Harry unsure from one moment to the next. Yet this was different, all of this was wrong. Nothing felt real, as if all was nothing short of a bad dream.

""

The sharp sting of footsteps penetrated the surroundings causing a sudden stir with Hermione. Her eyes were large and mad, scared of everything around her. Stray, tangled, knots of hair threw themselves around her face. Her savageness resembled her to that of a Scarecrow, half demolished and impossibly pitiful.

Insanity dressed her in its sinister cloak, haggard and bruised, twitching in rhythm to her own reality. The air itself presented a threat as her body struggled in her mutilating bonds.

The footsteps echoed ever closer as she twisted her wrists further cutting her to the bone. The pain was nothing as a cold clammy sweat broke freely from her skin, sheathing her in moisture. The sounds teased her much like they done for hours but this time it brought something different, something more tangible.

Loud clanks of metal clasped against itself as a dull candlelight steamed into the room. Hermione could see the smug smile before her supposed owner even entered the room. His sharp silhouette marked perfectly in black attire, everything that was worn heightened and broadened the once weak looking ferret that was Draco Malfoy.

It had been many years since their first encounter, their whole relationship built on spite ever since. Hermione was oblivious of the fact that, like her both had had changed so greatly. Now she saw how life had manipulated him for the Devil's bidding.

Yet he terrified her, rending Hermione to a mess of panic. Screaming erupted through the room once again, Draco with his wand alight stormed towards his prisoner. He reached Hermione holding the wand close to her face. She became paralyzed waiting for his reaction, the light stinging deep behind her eyes. Flashes of red and yellow lights burnt like fire in her eye line.

'Back where you belong, don't you agree Mudblood?' He pulled the wand away from her face, only to use the light source the scan down her body. Hermione felt her skin melting at the thought of being enslaved to the Slytherin, involuntary she flayed her legs towards him. Draco in no surprised stepped back sighing desperately, examining her with disgust. 'It's funny how you're still arrogant enough to assume you'd be here for that. But I must say my aunt did a fine job of you...' He paused, passing judgment through his still grey eyes.

He held the light close to the top of her thighs, illuminating the many white scars streaked across her legs and hips. Suddenly the room felt safer compared to the company of Bellatrix. Hermione's eyes settled, focusing on the only light she had seen in so long. The rest of her body hung limply from her constricting reins and she ceased her cries of fear.

Something moved within her as if the panic and fear evaporated out of the room. She felt warm and safe, as if nothing had changed. The wizard who stood before her caught her wild amber eyes, looking intently into her soul. Becoming docile and numb Hermione swayed her head in the newfound refuge.

'It's nice to feel happy again isn't it? You always have a choice Mudblood.' His words confused her, her brain felt weary and her body felt heavy. The room was beyond torture, after countless hours she had endured enough. Now was her chance to get out but only in exchange to lie with Malfoy.

She felt like she deserved the punishment of the room for letting Ron die, for letting Harry escape, for abandoning Ginny. However to be Malfoy's toy was something different entirely. While she had a choice she would sooner die in the crazed dudgeon that be used freely by him.

'Leave.'

The word was blunt and strong, turning her head Hermione noticed the wisps of yellow feathered out of the Hawthorn. Her thoughts were clear and the spell only seemed to replace confidence instead of the possession that was intended. Her body and mind were weak and felt beyond repair, surely the Death Eater would have little trouble casting a successful Imperious Curse.

Everything she felt was a complete contradiction of what she knew, Hermione felt restored, fierce. Slowly it began to dawn upon her that it was Malfoy who was at her mercy. There was something he wanted from her, something he needed. Something he was not going to get.

'Fuck off Malfoy.' Her tongue cut with the same brutality as her shackles. The pain encouraged her spirit tempting her to take more. To embrace the agony as much as possible, it wouldn't matter, it only gave her strength. The pointed face before her turned into a sadistic smile. 'Very well. Somehow I don't think you'll be so pleased with yourself once the spell wears off.'

Twisting his mouth into a grimace, offence had clearly been taken and his wand turned lifeless at his side. It had little effect as the euphoria had already been captured in Hermione's heart. Turning without further comment Malfoy walked away from her with complete disregard. However Hermione's spirits had been lifted and the fire of the Gryffindor began to burn brightly once again. She could not be crushed; she did not allow it after Bellatrix, the war and especially the camps. Draco would not be the one to break her.

'Don't think anything's changed. I know the coward that are really are and so do you. You can't scare me.' Her voice sound that of a madwoman finally pushed over the edge. In her mind of course all seemed perfect reason, her tolerance for brutal chaos finally held its grip.

Draco stopped in his tracks as if still waiting for Hermione to say more. He turned his head, plastered in delight. Remaining where he was a chuckle bounced around them. 'Have you ever wondered whose fault it is that you're here? Precious Potter couldn't give a shit about you or his little girlfriend. He's the coward. Meant to be a hero wasn't he Mudblood? Couldn't even fight until the very end. Pity really.'

With nothing left to say he pursued out the stone cage shutting the entrance behind and locking Hermione back into the darkness.


	3. Simply She Had Been Saved

She lay there in the hot steaming water, allowing it to caress wherever it pleased. The strong scent of warm, spiced apple lingered around her, soothing her inside and out. It seemed so surreal that after months of being trapped in the castle, of being constantly beaten and cursed - finally something felt nice. It felt amazing.

Floating around her was soft petals from various flowers, some she didn't even recognise. Not daring to open her eyes, her flowing red hair slipped off her shoulders falling down her back and into the water around her. She didn't need to move nor was a reaction necessary and the long white finger slowly paced itself alongside her neck.

Up and down the motion tingled her skin, electrifying her to the base of her spine. Everything felt so heavenly as her head fell backwards, exposing more of her neck. She could feel the warmth from Draco's torso against her as he sat down on the edge of the marble bath. Slowly more of his fingertips joined the dance stroking in one subtle motion.

The adrenaline spread through her body and the sensation felt like fire underneath her skin. Ginny's lips parted allowing a small breath of pleasure to escape fooling her further into bliss.

Simply she had been saved. Saved from the horrors of what she knew, she owed her life to Draco. This was something she could never of imagined, however he was here giving her hope and strength. Harry was gone one way or another, and the solace of realisation had been given to her.

Up until now she had been abandoned by everybody. She watched everyone she loved die and leave her to her fate. Now somebody was here to stay, she saw the vision of survival within Draco. His sanctuary would protect her from the aftermath if she just played the along.

Scooping his hand into the water Draco gathered as much as possible drizzling it across Ginny's shoulders. 'The Mudblood won't last much longer, soon you will have your friend.' His speech was low, curling softly around Ginny's ear. Nobody was around to hear regardless, yet the words were not what she wanted to hear.

'The Mudblood is not my friend.'

It had taken a few days for Ginny to recover her ability to talk. Of course once Draco had showed her nothing but kindness she soon learnt there was no need to be afraid anymore. She could talk without getting attacked or chased down for fun. Freedom had been restored and Hermione was not about to ruin it.

The purity of her environment carried her body removing all negativity. The youngest Weasley was only aware of the logic within her situation, in fact of every situation. Her silence was the protest for her struggles, not allowing the Death Eaters the one sound they craved so badly. Control would not be theirs and now finally her efforts had been praised.

Salvation was granted down upon her in the form of a past enemy. So many things had changed, people she knew she saw suffer and commit in ways she couldn't believe. Was it so impossible Draco had repented and had come to aid those most deserving? Hermione was just weak. Scared and worthy of her torture. She too was willing to betray those she loved to save herself, lying untouched in the camps while her friends screamed for mercy around her.

Ginny was one of those friends left to take the fall for the hero's mistakes. All were idiotic in the attempts to stop the Dark Lord, children running around believing they could make a difference. Sent on a wild goose chase by an old fool, none knew of the true courage it would take to succeed.

One had to sin in order to gain the most valuable thing of all - the Dark Lord's trust. Draco understood of the dedication necessary to fulfil the task of prevailing. Ginny had been given a choice, to be condemned like so many others or to survive with empowerment and liberty. Those not worthy should be convicted to all the pain and punishment it would take to strengthen their faith.

Marks of torture still lay apparent across her pale skin yet no longer did it bring the shame and guilt. Ginny felt reborn, refreshed in the colourful assortment of petals around her. She forgot about Draco, about everything. Finally she felt a small light of peace all of which she entirely owed to the Death Eater who saved her soul.

The nights nonetheless remained difficult. Sometimes it still felt as if she was still locked away it that awful stone dudgeon. Her bruises had vanished thanks to Draco's healing yet the scars remains visible enough to opaquely shine against her already white complexion.

The moonshine from the window brought out the silver embroidery across the black and gold Re'em skin cover. Sleep was not an option and she watched the bright stars dance their dance in the midnight sky. The bed she had been given was nearly as luxurious as the bath and silence fogged around her as the smooth feel of the bed sheets entombed her in a sarcophagus of comfort.

""

The forced smashed into her mouth driving her into a solid wooden chair further injuring Ginny's face. She fell back in haze barely registering the pain, letting her half ripped out hair flay madly around her. Her mouth was full of warm thick blood, slowly trickling down her throat.

As it reach her stomach the urge to vomit raised back up the tract, yet she refused to be sick. Spitting the blood from mouth, the end of a boot connected with her face in an instant. She fell back, looking up at the wizard as he bent down slowly allowing his blonde ponytail to slide forward.

'You're lasting longer than I expected tonight Blood Traitor. Maybe last night wasn't rough enough.' Yaxley lent right above seizing her arms with his terrorising hands, yanking her upright until her feet dangled pathetically above the floor. Her freckled nose was no more than an inch from his, as his soulless eyes challenged hers.

His voice was calm and poised 'I suppose you consider yourself something of a hero, do you not? Filth. Blood so pure, yet so tainted...' He wrinkled his nose his in own annoyance, examining the girl he gripped in his hands.

Without further contemplation he threw her into the wall adjacent to them, rending Ginny instantly unconscious. Taking a final glance towards the redhead he turned his sights to his robe sleeves, rolling them down from his evening exercise.

He paced toward the door opening it wide to a masked Death Eater already waiting for the needed signal. 'Now, they've all got a big day tomorrow, the Dark Lords wants them nice and tidy for his show, don't overdo it.' Without further ado Yaxley left the room for his companion to take over the duties of torture.

Ginny began stir as the heavy wooden door slammed shut with the equally heavy tread of footsteps. Slowly lifting her head the throbbing ache of her previous defeat took over her face as her eyes stared weakly through her copper hair. The wizard came to a halt not far from Ginny's face, looking down upon her with carved dragon bone mask.

Silver swirls framed the features as the blank face held its eerie gaze. He seemed to descend in height as his cloak lowered with him to the ground. A gloved hand reach out to her pulling the hair from her contused features revealing the water filled green eyes.

The hand began to caress her cheek, careful avoiding what damage they could. Ginny began to breathe more anxiously, trying to suppress her torment even though now she knew all could be healed.

'Shh... I'm so sorry Ginny, I wish it didn't it haven't to be this way... I tried to get here as soon as I could.'

His soft words of comfort brought sorrow to her heart. She too wished it did not have to be this way. However this was what the world had become and it only was the beginning of a new era. Things were not about to changed, but there was something. A plan.

It had been hard to talk since being trapped in her former school only to be used as object worthy of nothing. Somehow she managed to find voice from within her, 'I know... It's just... Just please, make me forget...' The depressed voice trailed into gentle whimpers as Ginny could not bare to look at the wizard before her. His hand dropped from her face and she could hear the sigh under the elaborate, lifeless face.

'I've told you, it'll be worse when you can't remember and wake up to this.' A long paused trailed between as another sigh steamed into the cold room. 'I'm sorry Ginny but it won't help, this is the world we live in now and we just have to make the best of what we have. ' Ginny's eyes for first time looked towards the Death Eater as she bit her lip willing herself to not cry. 'Please...' Her voice was high and full of panic as her bruised face pleaded for help.

The leather hand sunk into the draping robes to gracefully pull out a wand that was not his but one he could dispose of after his task was complete. He held the tip to her face and began to sweep it through the air, 'Vulnera Sanentur...'

""

The Weasley awoke to a loud bang outside of her room. The startle of her waking created a paralyzing tingle throughout her body. She knew she was not asleep yet her mind still lingered in the trance of her dreams.

Her thoughts had become blank as her senses slowly began to return. Eventually the sensation subsided allowing her to push herself up against the headboard. Everything felt so still and yet Ginny couldn't understand why it all seemed so loud. She strained her ears in an attempt to hear another disruption yet the dull buzzing frequency was all she could hear.

Staring into the darkness she became unsure if there even was a sound, that it wasn't her head playing tricks on her. Her eyes seem impervious to their usual behaviour as Ginny stared blindly into the thick darkness. The only window in the room lay on the wall behind her preventing her from even seeing into the outside world. Somehow the fact that her vital sense was temporarily impaired brought a vibe of security around her. Obviously whatever she heard was not likely to sound again as she slowly slipped down back into to the bed.


	4. There Was No Need For Magic

The sweat felt heavy on Draco's brow, forcing the droplets to cascade down his face. His chest felt hollow and his stomach sank with a rumble as if inhabited by Gnomes. The parchment on the table brought dread he did not wish to seek, however the familiar handwriting only created further anxiety.

The codes and the puzzles had drained his energy and Draco glanced towards the clock hopelessly searching for the daylights hours. His hands had pushed the blonde hair far from his face only increasing his mental confusion, for the words seemed meaningless and impossible to decrypt.

Another piece of parchment laid adjacent, with a dried up yet exquisite turquoise quill, however there was neither writing nor any hint that Draco understood the letter what so ever.

He sank back into the quilted chair, throwing his hands from his head to his lap. Sighing in frustration he pushed away the carved Greenschist and glass table with the tip of his foot. Grabbing the edge of the chair the young Death Eater stood and wasted no time in reaching his drinking cabinet.

His Hawthorn lay on top yet there was no need for magic in such a rehearsed routine. Unlocking the cabinet with the release of a simple catch, the face opened descending into itself. Draco's hands wrapped themselves around the neck of a glass decanter, flicking the golden stopper - carved from the prongs of a Graphorn - with his thumb. Involuntary his free hand picked up a goblet ready to pour the drink and without hesitation he did.

By anybody's means his servings were not small, however the Firewhisky seemed to disappear in an instant of touching his lips. He swallowed with ease - a sure since Draco had begun to drink too much. The pointed nose twitched as it burnt down into the stomach, leaving a warm trail down his chest behind it. Still a hold of the decanter he poured himself another, gulping it as quickly as the last.

The pressure had not stopped since he enrolled into the ranks of the Dark Lord. Since being embossed with his mark he had been sent on suicide missions all in order to save his neck. Not like he really cared for that anymore, now he wasn't really sure why he was doing any of this.

Before he had people who needed his protection, they were all gone now however. Throwing the thoughts abruptly to back of his mind, Draco ignored the goblet as he threw his head back in submission to the decanter of Firewhisky. Merlin, he needed this drink.

A sway filled his eyesight as he placed the objects back into their places feeling satisfied, at least for now. Closing away his escape, Draco turned back to look at the mystery on the table. There was no way he was returning to that letter tonight, so instead he took his wand and marched away from his headache. Entering the hallway he closed the door softly and began the lengthily walk to the dungeons.

Strolling down the corridor, the candles either side ignited the path for him. The moving portraits of his family and ancestors were all asleep, resting where they were painted. The calm rhythm of breath followed the footfall of Draco and continued to the end.

Reaching the imposing black door he possessed his wand holding it to the handle, 'exitus acta probat.' Upon his command the handle unravelled itself springing the door open for him. Light was not necessary as he took this trip frequently regardless of the entrapped Mudblood, he casually walked the flight of stairs descending deeper into the mansion.

The underneath of the house held a peculiar entrance, carved by ancestors, it instantly reassured anyone inside of it. In the centre was beautifully crafted bath tub that filled the occupied with a better sense of ease than the most powerful Imperious curse. This was not Draco's concern however, so ignoring the beautifications he was well acquainted with, he approach an inconspicuous wooden door.

Draco still grasped the wand and again lifted it smoothly towards the door handle. As it unlocked and open towards him, the Death Eater stepped back, admiring the thick metal vault door that stood behind it. Lowering his voice, his tongue became almost serpentine as he forcefully hissed the required words. 'Prefer et obdure; dolor hic tibi proderite olim.' The wheel began to turn sounding the orchestra of metal and before it even opened the screaming had already started.

He did not need to step into the room to identify the cries of terror. Draco held his poise listening the heartbreaking sounds of the forsaken. However he was more surprised than anything.

It had never taken more than a few hours to break a person in one these rooms, the Mudblood on the other hand had managed to subdue it for three days. She had no chance of living any further and her yells only confirmed that suspicion. After spending most of the evening running around in circles on ridiculous codes Draco wasn't prepared to try and talk to a madwoman.

To his ears it sounded almost as if she had been sent too far, that maybe even magic wouldn't be able to revert her. That wasn't the exact plan though was it? To have either of the girls with a perfect mind would be a very dangerous situation indeed.

Draco was no fool, the Blood Traitor was as fierce as she was powerful and he regretted to say that the Mudblood had the most extraordinary skills he had ever seen. All wasted however.

The piercing to his ears caused no more than boredom and indifference. Neither disgust nor pleasure seeped from his duty and he began to walk into the room without further thought. Pulling the door behind him it clasped against the framing, forcing the former Gryffindor into a more increased sense of panic.

The noise became higher, telling Draco all he needed to know. 'Lumos.' A small light, enough to highlight around him, appeared at the end of his wand. The light caught the prisoner's eyes, startling the young wizard.

Her eyes were red raw, rolling around her socket as if not attached as well as the hair that tangled around her bloodied face. She had become demonic and Draco was very careful as to where he stood in fear of flaying legs. Many sights he had seen, yet this was the most pathetic he had seen any victim. A strange feeling suppressed under his skin, he could see the cruelty of what he had done and he was not proud of what he had inflicted.

Brutality and sadism did not concern Draco and that was not why he had gone to Hermione. Her body refused to cease it unnatural twisting as no thought could penetrate Draco's mind. The cries had transformed in rasped wheezes slowly quietening, however he did not move from where he was standing only to continue to look with revulsion towards his Mudblood captive.

Something about her behaviour riled him and he could feel the hot sensation in the pit of stomach boiling through his bloodstream. He forced himself to look at her, building up a need so intolerable his hands began to shake and his face turned into a sickening grimace. A sweat built up around the Hawthorn he held in his hand as the light itself had begun to flicker around the room.

In an instant it was too much and the anger surged freely through him. Within the blink of an eye Draco had forced himself towards the girl pinning her limbs to the wall above him. His wand had fallen to the floor with a clutter the moment he leapt towards her. Hermione's body froze as Draco slithered his hands around her throat muffling the excruciatingly irritating whines.

Her eyes found no rest as they continued to look everywhere but him. The infuriation of it all broke into his hand further cutting off Hermione's airways. How dare the Mudblood even in such circumstances defy the look of her master? Draco's grip was absolute as he slid her up the wall, her body growing limper and far less defiant than before.

'You will look at me.' The cold drawl rang round, and the crazed amber eyes met that of the silver. As her obedience increased the Slytherin released the tension ever so slightly. Like every other piece of filth she needed to be trained regardless of how weak she had become. If she could not be trained, she would die in the gutters where their kind belonged.

Their last encounter was fuelled by a successful Imperious curse, one to restore sense of well being and safety rather than complete control. Draco knew Hermione's arrogance and had implicit trust than this would prevail, causing her enough strength to survive the dudgeon. After all a prize like her is no good dead.

He stepped away dropping his hold of Hermione causing her to swing agonizingly in her reins. Silence had captivated her as she hung from her suspension, allowing Draco to return to his wand. Picking it up gently, he turned back towards Hermione and raised the wand to her shackles.

'Now listen very carefully to me, Mudblood,' he crept his arm around her waist as he aimed high at the metal cuffs. Tapping them both in succession they released without hesitation, dropping Hermione carelessly into the arms of Draco. Hoisting her over his shoulder he took a steady turn to walk out of the dudgeon, 'I cannot afford to have you disobeying my authority. The room was a precaution you see. Just so you understand where you will end up if you...'

Hermione began to regain some sense of reality, attempting to squirm free of the blonde's grasp. She proved unsuccessful, barely able to open her eyes let alone escape from the clutches of a Death Eater. Draco adjusted her positioning over his broad shoulder as she subsided back into unconsciousness. There was no need for any kind of conversation anyway - there would be enough time for discussion later.

As he carried the girl out through the two doors, he could feel the sharpness of her bones digging into his skin. Her malnutrition was in no way doubtful as she was little trouble to support. She swayed unceremoniously as Hermione was clearly unaware of her what was happening to her. Charming the doors shut with a brush of his wand, he began to walk though the emerald stone cave.

He approached the bath having little difficulty in transporting Hermione manually and with equal ease, lowered her into the middle of the empty structure. She did not surface or appear to have sign of life.

Looking down at her, Draco contemplated whether it was worth the pain it would cause in reviving her. He had never been down to camps nor had he witnessed the victims it had produced. Of course he heard all the hearsay, the reports from Bellatrix and Yaxley. Now he knew all he heard was true, if anything an understatement of the true horrors. Even the castle wasn't this bad.

Sighing in contempt he pointed the wand to the edge of the bath, instantly creating steaming, scented water. He debated in whether to strip her of that awful rag, yet the disgraced visible body of a Mudblood was not something he wished to see. Instead he clicked the fingers of his free hand and in response a small puff of smoke erupted next to him.

Underneath the smoke lay the one eared house elf ready to serve his master. In a lot of ways it reminded him of Kreacher – the house elf to the Blacks. In comparison Verrill was perhaps more repulsive for the lack of one his monstrously oversized ears.

'Yes, master sir. Verrill to your best services master sir.' The elf looked up to Malfoy, waiting eagerly for his command. Draco however could feel the recognisable pain behind eyes and he had no patience to stay awake any longer. 'Just do something with her.' Bowing to his order to house elf hurried over to Hermione who now was completely surrounded by the blissful water.

Aware of what needed to be done - Draco left the room and swiftly and headed for the set of stairs leading back up into the mansion while leaving the product of devastation behind.


	5. Some Scars Would Never Heal

""

The explosion of spells began to crash around within an instant. The exits were covered by Snatchers, all in their black ripped robes with the look of delight on their faces. Hermione turned to the tall boy next to her - she could see the terror run through Neville's expression. They had been found.

Her eyes met that of the dark wizard right ahead of her - she had already noticed the twitch of his hand. However Hermione knew she was far away from her wand.

She pushed Neville to the ground without a second thought, following the momentum of her own force. His body gave little resistance as they collided with the surface underneath them.

As they hit the floor she could feel the heat of the curse that flew over their heads.

She lifted her head, only to see the wooden planks above her cascading down through the air. A sharp squeal escaped her as she threw her head back down into Neville's chest. They collapsed around her causing a fog of dust to cloud around them.

'Come on!'

Hermione grabbed Neville's jumper by the collar pulling both of them up right. Looking around nobody could be seen. It appeared that they were the only two to remain.

There was no time to think and the veil of dust could only protect them for so long. Misted beams of light soared and encompassed them. Deep incoherent yells and shouting was all she could hear as Neville tried his best to protect her from rays.

'P... Protego Duo.'

Clumsily he circled his wand around himself and Hermione.

A faded blue light gleamed around them spherically, allowing the curses to bounce of it, leaving the two unharmed. Hermione desperately tried to blink away the blur, hoping she could at least see her assailants. Yet the flashes distorted her eyesight and all sound was impossible to differentiate.

Carefully avoiding the debris around her, Hermione crouched low in order to get a better view of the skirmish. She could see the legs of many rushing in and out of the doorways, congesting the far corner of the hut. They all seemed to be as disoriented as the last - their feet scuffed around in a uneasy manner, all unsure where to turn.

The unmistakable black Converse's came into view and she knew at once they were safe.

Hermione could see no tactical route. Although Neville was holding the protective charm, a large pile from ceiling still laid on the floor before them. If she called out to Harry then the Snatches would know for certain whom they were fighting. That she couldn't risk.

Darkness engulfed them, dragging her memories away.

Cold metal clasped around her wrists yanking her arms high above her head. The pain came surging into her shoulders as the haunting feeling of the stone cage wrapped around. Hermione knew it would not be long before she heard she the incessant whispers.

""

Her waking was slow and uneven, she was unsure if she even wanted to open her eyes. Hermione felt like she was swimming with ease, allowing the current to take her anywhere it wished. The foul smell of the camps had disappeared and was replaced with a sweet yet sour smell.

However it wasn't the same sourness of the camps where bodily fluids had mutated in their air. This was different. It was beautifully warm reminding her of the Gryffindor common room, Hogwarts and her home.

It had been a long time since she had thought about home. Since the age of eleven her life was split by prejudice and fears she couldn't understand. Her parents of course knew of her magical ability, yet there was no one else outside Hogwarts she could tell. Within the wizarding world it was different - she made a name for herself, known for her intellect. As well as the stigma that landed her here.

She had comfort in the fact she knew that her parents were across the other side of the world, unaware of her existence due to a very powerful Obliviate curse. Nobody was aware of her existence and nobody certainly cared that she was here. Wherever she was.

Her hallucinations had warped her mind, leaving her unsure and untrustworthy of everything around her. She would not lay faith in her insanity and was fairly sure her new found surroundings were just another mirage. A small boney hand – similar to that of a child's - was laid upon her head.

The blackened horizon seeped from view, bleeding into the distant light. Sounds muffled around her and none became distinguishable. Hermione could feel the heat steaming around her as the expected pain soothed her into the furnace that tickled around her. It curled between her toes and fingers, clenching at the convulsion in the bladder.

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she went to the toilet of her own accord. While under the possession of the Death Eater's, that privilege among all the others had been taken away. There were times during her first months of imprisonment where they would deny her that basic function. Only to laugh at her when the burn became so unbearable she couldn't hold it in any longer.

This time was no different, the gentle tingle subsided as she released into the water. As Hermione's breathing slowly began to pace into normal rhythm, her chest fell to the heavy pressure restricting her airways. The tenderness throbbed under her ribcage as she forced a cough from herself.

As her body reluctantly reacted she gained her senses slowly. She felt as though she was circled by water, drowning her in its soothing blanket. Opening her eyes gingerly, a blur casted around her and the small outline on the one eared elf focused into view.

'Nice to see you awake miss, most certainly is.'

His voice was high and seemed too distant for something so close. Hermione could see and feel all around her but her brain became resistant to interpreting all there was. As the elf's puerile voice reached her ears, Hermione felt herself rise from the sea she appeared to be in, watching herself down below.

Her being haunted the atmosphere as she disconnected further from her corporal form. It became a cinema of devastation, the picture of herself flickered in her eye line the same as a broken film reel. She felt reborn as her energy lingered around the bath.

The half-conscious state that she was once in had completely evaporated - she felt nothing a part from the paralysis of trauma.

'Great rest must be taken miss, Verrill will take care of all, you will take great rest now.'

She watched him taking his hand from her head, crouching below the bath. The young witch inspected the elf as he appeared to be completely oblivious of her new form.

Hermione forced her senses wide, trying to identify what she could. She willed herself back into her body, regaining her normal point of view. The casing of water curled around her, as she looked down, she was protected by beautiful flower petals. They danced on the surface, creating a florescent mirage of jolting colours.

Their brightness captivated her, swirling her with a whirlpool of pinks, oranges and yellows. It stung her eyes to see the startling hypnotic pattern they caused - Hermione felt as though she was not worthy to lay her eyes on something so amazing. She barely felt human, distant from everything.

As the floral decoration laid parallel to her chest, their scent began to fill her nose once again, replacing the death with its incinerating charm. The shame swept away along with the dirt as she for once, began to feel cleansed.

In an instant grip of panic, Hermione shot up causing the water to thrash backwards and forwards. Looking down the side she saw the elf tracing his fingers along the frame, leaving an orange glow trailing behind.

Verrill's bulging eyes peered up towards the girl in the bath.

'Not to fear, not to fear. Verrill will make all well. Take your great rest miss.'

His words were foreign and the confusion mounted within Hermione's thoughts. Everything seemed so out of control and every action that had been embarked upon her was not of her choice.

The sense of floating took hold once again, as she realised her pains were completely diminished.

Pulling her hand's softly out of the water she brought them close to her face, inspecting every detail she could. No long did her fingers appear crippled and her nails looked better than they had done in so long. One's that had been removed during torture had been replaced as though they were never missing.

Looking towards her shoulders – the part that possibly had the most pain inflicted upon – they were shaped back into their feminine sockets. Although the bruising still left a purple echo across her skin, the majority had all disappeared.

Her hair… Grabbing at her locks, she could feel the thickness, the curls and the strength it had gained. Attempting to drag her fingers through it, she discovered the vast amount of knots that still remained. However it was irrelevant, as Hermione felt far better than what she thought she deserved.

It overwhelmed her far too much as she burst into hysterical tears - holding onto it as she would to a long lost friend. She sank back into the water allowing the tears to join her watery vessel.

The elf meanwhile, continued the enchantment on the bath wall. Not phased at all as he allowed Hermione to cry. She almost felt as if she had finally died, the pain lingered no more and her body felt free.

Sniffing deeply, she struggled to control her breathing as she lowered her arm back into view. The 'Mudblood' unfortunately, still remained.

Some scars would never heal, however she twisted her arms in disbelief – unable to comprehend how it came to be. The dizziness had not parted and the ache to her head would probably never leave.

Yet it was a miracle. She never thought she could experience anything like it.

A distant vision lay in the front of her mind, painting the image of Draco. His fingers were tight around her throat and she struggled for breath. As she closed her eyes to the image she was unsure of whether it just lay as just another dream. Recently it was always difficult to tell the truth amongst her distorted madness.

As she imagined the grip growing stronger, she inhaled deeply, falling into soft sobs. Why was she here? Her memory was vague as all had merged together, unsure of the sense of passing time. Verrill the elf remained silent through her tears.

The despair sank through her she slid further into the water. Beginning to feel weightless, Hermione stared blankly into her hands. Why am I crying? As soon as she processed the unusual query a haze suddenly poisoned her mind, rendering it empty to the core.

Lifting her head to her surroundings she gazed into the dark cave and admired the bath below.

A shock jolted through her, as she reacted sharply folding both of her arms across her chest. Oh Merlin, what's happened? Hermione's brow knitted in thought. She didn't dare removed the petals that dwelled on the water's surface. However she knew that her body lay bare as the embarrassment grew.

A slight mutter could be heard, as she strained her ears it was impossible to tell where from. Casting her eyes around, she saw the corner of a pointed pink ear bouncing at the side of her. Daring to look over – while making sure she held her arms securely over her – she saw the sight of the one eared elf.

Bewilderment ran through her mind, what an earth is going on? The small creature appeared to be performing some kind of spell on the wall of the tub she was in. He did not notice her, yet she felt incredibly awkward nonetheless.

Clearing her throat, it appeared to be remarkably course and stung before she even opened her mouth.

'He… Hello…' The young witch's voice was hoarse and quiet but the elf looked up regardless. 'Hello miss!' Verrill's squeaky voice caused a chill in Hermione, yet his beaming smiled offered slight reassurance to her.

'Ah, great rest was taken miss! Verrill has fixed all.' He removed his spindly finger instantly ending the orange radiance he was previously creating. However Hermione struggled to comprehend the words, only adding to the mixed thoughts that had somehow began to manifest deep in her heart.

'Excuse me? It's just… I have no… Idea… What's going on?' Her voice rose towards the end as the worrying panic surged through her. After all she had just woken up in a luxurious bath with no understanding in how it came to be. The elf seemed unmoved, continuing with his bright happy expression.

'No need to fear miss. Master will explain all! Miss is in good hands.'

It echoed through her, the word 'master' over and over. Who was this elf's master? Suddenly a horrid feeling rippled over her skin.

'Who is your master?'

Fearful of his response, his question barely passed her lips. She highly doubted that whatever the answer would be, it would not be good.

Verrill took time in his reply, clearly deep in thought. Hermione had never known an elf to take so much time in what would be a very simple question.

'Master Malfoy of course miss.' His voice lay unusually flat compared to the frequency he was previously emitting prior.

Malfoy… Oh no…

A stricken fear grabbed her heart, forcing its tight clench around it. In battle, it began to beat faster. The sweat formed in unison and her whole body began to shake.

Looking down she became paralysed. The only two things she was sure of were that she most certainly was not clothed and that she was under the same roof as Malfoy. Hermione's stomach churned as she couldn't bear to imagine how she happened to be here, in this particular position.

'Your name… Verrill? Isn't it? I need you to get me out of here.' Trying desperately to rush her words, the thought lit up inside of her. Of course. Harry.

Why he wasn't he here she could not say, although his far away image blurred in her memories. Yet a warm feeling cuddled in her chest as she knew that he would come to save her. There might not have been anyone who knew of her whereabouts but she knew Harry would find away.

'Yes miss! Verrill will bring clothes'

The elf clicked his fingers. Appearing through the smoke, Verrill held in his hand a fresh set of robes and towels. Placing them on the side, he looked uncomfortably towards the girl.

'I'm sorry miss. But Master request I stay.'

A sigh left her, however a growl erupted in her stomach. She felt like she hadn't eaten for days, as the cramp burrowed deeper. Hermione knew that is was better not to argue with the creature.

'Okay, but… Turn around or something…'

A perplexing expression wore through on his wrinkled face - however he turned to look the other way nonetheless.

Searching the room for a better solution, Hermione curled her fingers around the edge and pulled herself up out of the water.

Her balancing wasn't very accurate but cautiously she stepped one foot at a time out of the bath. In a shameful fumble, she managed to wrap the towel tightly around her.

The sight of her own body caused her to take a slight stumble backwards. She looked horrific - every part of her was clinging to her bones. What have they done to me... Exploring herself with her eyes, she looked down to her legs, which resembled about the same thickness as a bowtruckle.

Verrill changed directions eagerly, looking hopeful towards the former Gryffindor. 'Come with Verrill miss. Food and sleep awaits!' Plodding into the shadows, Hermione quickly grabbed the robe that lay adjacent to her and followed the elf.

As her sight adjusted it wasn't long before the elf approached a stone door. Without hesitation he laid his skeletal hands upon it, allowing it to open wide.

Hermione followed him curiously into the dark room. Verrill clicked his fingers once again, instantly bringing the alcoves to life with a singular enticing flame.

Staring in amazement into the room, it resembled greatly to the room Hermione had at Hogwarts. A majestic four poster bed - with exquisite red and gold drapes to accent it – lay with strength in the heart of the room.

A large fireplace stood, circled with floral patterns that were carved into the piece. Warming rugs and wooden tables lay all around. Yet it was the marvellously packed bookcase that caught her eye. This is fantastic.

Hermione clung to the robe in her emaciated arms as a smile broke free on her face. The house elf noticed as he too smiled in response. 'Get nice miss. Verrill will get miss's food.'

She gazed down at the elf, truly grateful for the kindness he had shown her. Needless to say, Hermione wasn't use to such treatment. However she reciprocated the warm expression with ease as Verrill turned to leave the room.

As the creature took to the exit, the door slammed behind Hermione. Casting her eyes around the room, she could feel a pull with inside her mind. It was the collision of the wood as it vibrated the recesses of her soul.

She was back.

The cold took over first, freezing every molecule within her. The agony had not been healed - merely hidden. The docile burn began to tingle its way back through her skin.

Abruptly the room felt like it turned it on itself, forcing the luxuries into the cold, damp, stone cave. Her lucidity remained entirely blank once again. All Hermione knew was the pure fear.

Nothing was safe. She knew all too well that at any moment, danger and harm could be placed upon her without a second thought.

Her knees began to feel weak and she slowly edged towards the bed for support. Gripping tightly to it, her fingers curled into the woven material as she slid to the floor pathetically.

As a clammy sweat broke free onto her hands and face she felt swallowed by the voices of the past.

""

Hermione stared down below to him - repeatedly she performed the same routine, watching... waiting. It became hopeless, believing desperately in nothing. She had spent many wasted hours in silent prayer, that one day, Harry would awake.

The former Gryffindor had given up on the use of magic and whatever was keeping Harry alive was far beyond her. Even if he did come to, it had been two months since the battle. The extent of his physical injuries and certainly his psychological were yet to be discovered.

Before Hermione could help it, a single tear rolled down her face dripping onto the boy below.

The door opened to her right, making her jump slightly. She instantly raised her hand to wipe the moisture from her face.

'Sorry…' Ron poked his head round the door - his mouth dropped as usual. However he softened his eyes in sympathy towards Hermione. 'Everybody's ready Hermione.' Ron forced a half smile towards her and reluctantly casted his eyes upon Harry. It still wasn't a pretty sight.

He closed his eyes to the injuries, removing himself from the doorway and retreating to join the others. Hermione however allowed her thoughts to trail trying desperately to not lose composure.

She was sick of constantly worrying about Harry, about whether or not the only safe place that remained would be discovered at any moment by Lord Voldemort's followers.

Hermione needed the strength that her friend could provide. She wasn't fit to be a leader and as much as it pained her to say, nor was Ron. She was grateful to him for what he had given in terms of security and practicalities. He meticulously planned over and over on how to scour the groups of Death Eaters that wandered the environment.

Additionally, he planned and instructed on how to take them out and most importantly how to avoid them. Ron had held the group together in times of criticalness and installed the faith which was the key to their survival.

Her pitiful expression forced her curls forward, her heart fracturing away a tiny bit as always did. Knowing there was nothing more she could offer – aside from more sorrowful gestures – she turned her back on the unconscious Messiah.

When Hermione entered the room, everybody's glum faces distributed an equal dose of misgivings. After all, nobody expected her to bring good news. However any news would have been a warm welcome.

Ginny and Ron had already set up the maps and intelligence regarding the details of the Death Eaters. Both stood at the far end of the table, identically tapping their wands in frustration against their legs.

Cho, Luna and Romilda all chose to sit on the impossibly uncomfortable wooden chairs, while all the boys chose to stand around the wall of the room.

Hermione's tired eyes searched all the faces in there as she steadily walked over to Ron's side. Her brows furrowed as she interpreted the map that was sprawled across the lengthily dining table. She traced her finger over a large red cross that marked their last success of triumphing against the Death Eaters.

'Well I suppose we should get straight to the point.'

Ginny's voice broke free into the constantly tense atmosphere holding its usual tone of annoyance. She fell onto her hands as she placed them upon the table and gazed fearlessly around the room.

'Killing them isn't enough anymore. We need information.'

Everybody stiffened more so, as they all refused to reciprocate a direct look. Hermione inhaled deeply as she found the courage to speak.

'We don't know anything. Hogwarts could be destroyed, Diagon Alley… Gone. We need to know what's going on without endangering ourselves.'

Her words hung in the air as she prayer her more diplomatic approach would perhaps sit a bit better than Ginny abrasive manner.

She was lost for what say as she hoped that somebody would provide her with some kind of reassurance. Hermione didn't approve of the idea in anyway - to purposely go out, to hunt, to torture an individual. Death Eater or not, she never wished that it would come to such measures.

Her concerns seemed transcribe as George took a step away from the wall, his scared face coming into view.

'There are other ways Hermione.'

His deep voice shattered through her, sadly there was no other way.

Unfortunately Hermione didn't want to argue, she needed an excuse to not execute this mission. Miserably she also knew that the two youngest Weasley thought it was completely necessary.

Ron scrunched his face as his slowly took in George's words. Things had not been the same since the battle, especially between the remaining three Weasley's.

Molly, Arthur, Percy, Fred… All perished into the rubble before their very eyes. Charlie and Bill managed to disapparate however, but where they were or even if they were still alive no body was sure of.

In the months since, nobody had time to grieve for the so many loved ones lost. Not one night did somebody achieve a full night sleep. Food was scarce as all their magic grew weaker by the day due to the extreme stress they had all been put under.

Turning to his to his older brother his words pushed past his clenched teeth.

'Don't you think we've done them all mate? There is no alternative George. It's done.'

As Hermione judged the remaining twin's expression Ron's anger was evident to all.

'What do you mean it's done?' The volume of his exclamation caused the two brunette girls to twitch in their seats.

'I don't remember anyone putting you in charge. Last time I checked we all had a say!'

Bellowing his speech Hermione was thankful of the extremely powerful silencing barrier that protected their whereabouts. As she saw the blood run to Ron's ears, the Death Eaters became the last of her priorities. The one thing they didn't need was a brawl between the brothers.

Hermione noticed the inner battle Ron held attempting to contain his natural instinct. He contracted his fists in an effort to patience his words.

'Well if you have any better ideas George, be my guest.'

He held his stare towards the taller of the two as everybody try to find somewhere else to look. Hermione however, took George's silence as a response and decided to continue explaining their newly formed plan.

'We need to understand what they have planned. What they know about us, what's going on. We have no idea how to win this battle without…'

His name was still difficult to say and she noticed the tension on Ginny's face towards Hermione's hesitation. There was friction between everyone - sometimes in these types of situations the only way to cope was to blame others.

'We're doing it tonight, we know that they'll be about three miles from the left bank. If we leave now we should be able to intercept their patrol in the next hour.'

""

Hermione's hysteria grew and her breathing had created hyperventilation in her chest. The tears were streaming as the past memories of loved one's haunted her. She needed Ron and Harry at her side. It was completely unforeseeable how she would live without them.

All the cognition she held was a jumble of mixed images. Times, dates, events, hallucinations… Everything was impossible to decipher. Glimpses of Death Eater's fists, of friends being murdered and hopeless flickers of outlines her brain couldn't seem to manage.

Her skull felt as if it was splitting, overloading from the various exposures she had be subjugated to. Nothing appeared to make any coherent substance as it haemorrhage into one another.

Clawing at the rugged floor beneath her, the sweat flowed to her palms sliding them out from underneath her. Falling with a careless thud onto the surface under her, she made no attempt to protect herself. Continuing in hysterics, her cheeks pushed into the textured material obtaining the liquid that sluiced from her eyes.

Everything seemed a muddle of a lies and of untrustworthy truths - she couldn't even believe the environment she was in. Hermione's breathing continued it extremities and her throat began to dry even more from the rasped gulps of air she refused to cease in her turmoil.

A large puff of smoke steamed in front of her causing a loud scream to pierce the air. Verrill's face instantly expressed a panic and shock to Hermione's reaction.

'Miss! Miss! What's wrong miss!'

He placed down the silver tray that was littered with various foods onto the bed and he rushed to Hermione's aid.

Upon reaching her Hermione regained some strength, pushing herself up from floor not masking the crazed upset she felt. Grabbing the elf by his twig like arms she shook the small creature violently unsure of what she sought.

'Where are they! Where's Harry!'

The untamed savage beast possessed her speech as she screaming through her tears into Verrill's face. Unsure of what to do the elf became expectantly fearful of the young witch.

'Be calm miss! Please miss! Miss isn't think straight!'

His high pitched voice stuttered into Hermione's ears as it lay fragmented through the way it was interpreted. Hermione didn't need to hear his rationality. She needed answers.

'Where is Ron and Harry! Why am I here!'

Her voice rose until it was the only thing that could be heard, even the dull breeze that punctuated the air seemed to retreat in fear.

'You are here miss because Master requests it.'

His petrified squeak trailed into a demur statement and Hermione dropped her grip from the spindly arms. She was here was because 'Master' requested it.

Why was Draco so adamant on keeping her here? Why was she locked away and then treated in luxury? The most important question she detained was that why hadn't Harry come to rescue her?


End file.
